Whispers of Destiny: His Belated Love

After zooming off from here last night, Hogan had patched himself up at the hospital, but now, staring into Rosemary's eyes, he just shook his head with a clear-cut decisiveness, "Nope."

"Take off the mask; let me see your wound."

Glancing around, Hogan noticed the hustle and bustle at the entrance of the apartment building, "Here? Maybe we should find another spot."

The two dudes behind them screamed bodyguards, Maxwell's muscle. If they caught a glimpse, wouldn't that be like letting his love rival see him through proxy?

"It's not like I'm asking you to strip. What's with all the fuss? Want me to book a hotel room for you?"

"Well, that's not entirely out of the question."

Rosemary couldn't be bothered with his nonsense and just yanked off his mask. Hogan realized what she was doing just as she reached for him and instinctively lifted his hand, only to forcefully lower it again.

The guy was rough around the edges. What if he couldn't control his strength and ended up snapping her wrist? NôvelDrama.Org © content.

With the mask off, the damage on Hogan's face was out in the open, looking even more gruesome after a night's settling than it did yesterday.

Rosemary pressed her lips and after a few seconds of silence, made up her mind, "I'm taking you to the hospital."

These were just the surface wounds visible to the naked eye. If they were this bad, who knew what internal damage might be lurking. If he dragged his feet and something went wrong, it'd be too late

for regrets.

Hogan wasn't thrilled, "Weren't we supposed to grab a bite? I can run and jump around just fine."

He wanted to say he was sure he was okay, but facing Rosemary's disapproving gaze, he quickly changed his tune, "Let's eat first then head to the doc. I've already made reservations."

Who'd prefer the chaos of an emergency room - where it was a free-for-all for seats and people had got to shout to talk - over a classy restaurant where they could sit back, reminisce about the old times, and dream about the future?

"You're already thinking about food over your life?" Rosemary snapped, snatching the car keys from Hogan, "You're riding shotgun."

She'd noticed him limping when he arrived earlier, "You're already a mess, and you still wanna drive? Wanna crash into a flower bed or something?"

Hogan followed behind her like a henpecked hubby, silently taking the earful.

Rosemary hopped into the driver's seat first, and when he went to open the passenger door, he saw those bodyguards trailing, even looking like they were about to open the rear doors. His face went icy in an instant, his hand pressing down on the car door.

The message was crystal clear: No way in, beat it!

Bodyguard uttered, "Mr. Abbott, we're ordered to ensure Mrs. Templeton's safety, please make way."

"You're not following my orders; why should I make it easy for you? Whoever gave the orders, go ask them for making way. The car's mine, and if I say you're not getting in, you're not getting in. Try it, and I'll call the cops on you for trying to hijack my property."

The bodyguards were at loss for words. They could force their way in if they really wanted to, but that would surely tick off Mrs. Templeton.

The two exchanged a look, a silent agreement passing between them, and decided to tail them in another car.

The one who wasn't driving called Maxwell, "Mr. Templeton, Mrs. Templeton's taking Mr. Abbott to the hospital."

They hadn't reached the destination yet, but they'd overheard the conversation just now.

Maxwell took minutes to respond, and the bodyguard didn't dare rush him. From Mrs. Templeton and Mr. Abbott's recent chat, it seemed the latter's injuries were courtesy of Mr. Templeton, and from the look of things, Mr. Templeton might be hurt too.

Yet, Mrs. Templeton was off to the hospital with Mr. Abbott, without sparing a single word of concern for her own husband. Far from caring, they'd had a spat in the morning.

The door wasn't exactly soundproof; they'd heard every hurtful word Mrs. Templeton had hurled, clear as day.

What kind of domestic warzone was this, and were they going to get offed for witnessing it? Just as the bodyguard was quaking in his boots, Maxwell finally spoke up on the other end, "Yeah, got it."

Turned out Hogan's injuries were no biggie, just some surface stuff that would heal over time, though a few bloody cuts needed dressing changes.

After leaving the hospital, Rosemary handed him the ointment, "Remember, change it every three days. If you don't want to do it yourself, drop by the hospital or any clinic to get a doc to help. Keep it dry to avoid infection."

Hogan, with a lazy energy and a mischievous arch of his brow that screamed testosterone, hooked the bag with one finger. His skin was bronze from years of training and tanning, his build strong and balanced.

Such a strapping, upright guy was now teasing her from his lofty perch, "What about showers?"

"Can't exactly go without forever, right? If it takes months to heal, I'll stink myself to death, won't I?"

Rosemary flashed him a smile, "You live alone anyway; no one's around to smell you."

Just a few stitches, no need for surgery, and months to heal? She spun on her heel and walked away without a second glance.

Hogan's face fell, and he caught up to her in a few strides, "Hey, that's pretty cold, you know? I am injured, after all. And it's already seven."

A nearly six-foot-three tower of muscle whining like this only made Rosemary feel goosebumps all over, "Speak like normal."

Hogan said, "I'm hungry."

So was Rosemary; she hadn't eaten much at lunch. She whipped out her phone, and scrolled through an app for nearby eats, "What do you feel like to eat?"

Hogan leaned in to take a look, "Let's see what's good."

Back in high school, she used to tutor Hogan, and he'd often lean in close like this to listen to her explanations. So, when he leaned in to check her phone now, Rosemary didn't think much of it.

But before he could get close, a hand swooped in from behind, snatching her phone away, followed by an arm wrapping around her shoulder.

Rosemary was pulled into a familiar embrace, instantly flooded with the scent of the man holding her.

She looked up, and sure enough, there was Maxwell, his face a mask of tight lines and extreme anger, "The check-up is done. Mr. Abbott, you should leave."

He whisked Rosemary away from the spot, putting some space between her and Hogan.

Maxwell had his share of battle scars, but it was just a couple of spots on his left cheek and cheekbone that took the hit. They looked pretty bad, but with Hogan's face looking like it got the deluxe treatment from a wrecking ball, those little nicks on Maxwell hardly registered.

Hogan raised an eyebrow, and man, did he regret it! That move pulled at his stitches and he winced like nobody's business.

But he knew Maxwell wasn't exactly having a walk in the park either. The guy had aimed for the spots his clothes covered last night, so one wouldn't know the damage unless he stripped down.

Hogan was pretty darn proud of his punching power. Bet those hidden bruises were giving Maxwell a sweet kind of agony!

"Mr. Templeton is like a bad penny; just keeps turning up." Hogan cracked his knuckles with a chorus of pops, "You’re about to be her ex, and still, you stick like glue. Wherever she goes, there you are!"